


they tell us everything's alright and we just go along

by notthebigspoon



Series: Silver Side Up [1]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pablo and Bengie have known for a long time that nothing was right about Tim's current relationship. Bengie is the thinker, the big brother always producing non violent wisdom. There wasn't anything wrong with his plan. But Eli Whiteside, on the other hand, wants to take a physical approach and that suits Pablo just fine.</p><p>Title taken from We Must Stand Together by Nickelback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they tell us everything's alright and we just go along

**Author's Note:**

> Triggery for domestic abuse. Based it on my own experience, in which it wasn't physical but mental and emotional.
> 
> Trujillo is a throwaway OC.

“If you don’t stop this, you’re going to have to find someone else. Because I can’t take this. I can’t keep standing by and watching this happen to you. I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself. So make your decision.”

Pablo’s throat is dry but his eyes are damp. He has his face pressed into his hand and he’s afraid to try and answer because he thinks that he might start crying again. He starts to speak and makes a choked noise, shaking his head hard. On his laptop screen, his skype is open and Yadi is watching him with soft, sympathetic eyes. Bengie had been on the screen earlier but had departed when his own eyes had started watering.

“Pablo, cariño, it’s what has to be done.”

“But… why?” He manages, finally looking up from his hand. He knows he must look terrible and he wipes his eyes. “I can’t. It’s not supposed to be like this, it shouldn’t be this hard. This isn’t how…”

“Listen to me.” Yadi says, quietly but firmly. Pablo swallows hard and nods. “I know you care about Tim, I know you love him very much and so does my brother. But both of you, you are enabling him. You are too close to him to see the damage that it is doing. If you don’t say something, he will never leave. He will keep suffering, running to you for comfort and then running back to that loser Trujillo.”

“So I should just say what you said?”

Yadi shrugs. “You know the situation much better. I was just trying to give you some ideas.”

“It’s just… this guy is so bad for him and he doesn’t even seem to care. It’s like he doesn’t think he can do any better. The marks aren’t physical but god, I can see it in his eyes. The things that asshole must have said to him, to think he’s not good enough for anyone, good enough for the show. It isn’t fair, Yadi. It’s just not.”

Yadi starts to answer but there’s a rustling and he looks away from the camera before scooting back and scooting over, making room for Bengie to be seen on the screen. He nods at Yadi before looking to the camera. His eyes are a little red but his tone is normal, strong.

“I called Timmy. I told him that he needed to make a decision and that if he was staying with Trujillo, then I couldn’t help him anymore. I told him to look elsewhere. I imagine he will be calling you soon, Sandoval.” Bengie sighs, shaking his head and taking a deep breath, letting it out with a whoosh. He looks resolute, strong and comfortable that he’s made the right call. It makes Pablo feel better. “You are going to do your part?”

“Yes.”

As anticipated, Pablo’s phone starts ringing, Tim’s face lighting up the display. He swallows hard and holds it up. Yadi nods, telling Pablo he loves him before the Skype window goes black and closest out. Pablo bites his lip, says a prayer and answers the phone.

***

To say that Pablo has been dreading arriving at the clubhouse today would be a severe understatement. He recalls last night's conversation with Tim, listening to Tim sniffle as he told Pablo what Bengie had said. Then there had been the outright crying when Pablo had said the same thing, stern and strong when really, he wanted to cry right along with Tim. He didn't want to have to do this. Knowing it was the only way didn't help him feel like any less of an asshole. 

Trujillo had isolated Tim so badly, making him feel worthless and making Tim push everyone else away. The only reason Pablo and Bengie were still as close as they were was because they wouldn't _be_ pushed away. But that wasn't true any longer. Pablo just hopes they're making the right decision, because if Tim loses the last two friends he still has permanently, there's no knowing what Trujillo will do with the not really new found power over Tim.

But his fears, apparently, were for nothing. Tim enters the clubhouse bright eyed and care free. He jokes, he bullshits and doesn't even complain when Vogey gives him a noogie and a sloppy kiss on the cheek. It's off, it's not really Tim, but nobody else seems to notice or if they do, they don't seem to care. It's disturbing, wrong, scary.

Pablo wonders what happened the night before.

The thought plagues him throughout the game, his mind only shutting off when he's on the field. Always, the second he steps foot into the dugout, he immediately notes where Tim is and wonders what's going through his mind. His real mindset is coming out... he's drawn up on the bench, hoodie yanked over his legs and hood up over his head. He's burrowing, hiding himself. 

Tim catches Pablo looking and offers that smile again, so cheerful. But there's no hiding or ignoring the resentment in the pitcher's eyes.

If there weren't cameras on him, he'd throw up right now.

The second they've won the game and he's got a moment alone, he _does_ throw up.

***

“Panda? You okay, what's going on?”

He's still leaning over the toilet, hands braced on either side of the cubicle, breathing hard. He'd heard someone approaching but he was afraid if he moved, he'd get sick again. When he hears Whiteside, he turns and slumps back against the partition, offering him a wobbly smile. “Hey Whitey.”

“Coming down with something?” 

“You ever do something that you think is a good idea, but then it comes back on you and suddenly you're not so sure anymore?”

“Uh oh. You're knocked up, aren't you?”

His bark of laughter is loud enough to make them both jump.

“No. But. Look, you care about Timmy, yeah?”

“As much as he lets anyone care about him these days.” Whitey shrugs, and it's sad but true. “I don't think he has a lot of friends anymore, dropped everyone like a hot potato. Only person he seems to give a shit about is you.”

“Can I tell you something? And you gotta keep your mouth shut.”

“Aye aye. Wouldn't want the kung fu coming back on me.”

Pablo gives him a half hearted smile. “He hooked up with this guy. Fuck, you know Lincecum... has a talent for finding guys who want to take care of him. And that's not always a bad thing. But this guy, he's so controlling. Has to know where Tim is and what he's doing. He's cut him off from all of his friends except me and Bengie. But me and Bengie... we finally said something. Said we couldn't enable him by taking care of him then sending him back to that asshole.”

“Is he hurting Tim?” Whitey asks quietly, and Pablo knows that Trujillo's in trouble if Whitey ever finds him.

“Not physically, no. But mentally? He's really fucking with him. I just... me, Bengie and Yadi thought that telling him to handle himself was the right thing. But now I'm not so sure. I'm worried... I'm scared that without us, what if he just gives up entirely? I'm terrified of what might happen to him.”

Whiteside smirks. “You know where this guy lives, yes?”

“Yeah. Some shithole neighborhood. Really, what Tim's doing with him, I have no idea.”

“I think you're handling this wrong. Go home after the game, I'll pick you up after I run an errand. We'll handle this.”

***

When Pablo hears a honk, he looks out his apartment window to see Whiteside is at the curb. He locks the door behind him and jogs downstairs, wondering exactly what they're going to do and knowing it's nothing good. What shocks him is seeing Jonathan Sanchez in the passenger seat. He climbs into the back and looks at a bag with bats sticking out of it, frowning and chewing on his lip.

“What's Sanchez doing here?”

“I had a few days off. Eli told me what's going on.”

“Not that I don't appreciate how concerned you are about Timmy, but exactly what are we going to do?”

“Teach the guy a lesson. What's his name and where does he live?” Whitey asks as he pulls away from the curb. He and Sanchez are wearing identical cheshire cat grins that bode nothing well as Pablo recites the address and tells them Trujillo's name.

Pablo had known, from word of mouth only, that the neighborhood wasn't fantastic. It's the kind of place that looks like when a crime happens, nobody talks about it and nobody interferes. That might work out well for them, but Pablo wonders what the hell Tim could ever have seen in this guy. It doesn't occur to him that they've stopped until Sanchez and Whitey are both snapping at him. He shakes his head, looking around again and shuddering before handing them both bats, gripping his own. If they get caught, they are so screwed.

But then he thinks about Tim. About how he has no friends anymore, about how even his father is kept at arm's length. The look on his face after a loss, so miserable and you can tell he thinks he's a total failure. The tone of voice when he's on the phone with Trujillo after the last game he pitched and they lost, mumbling and self loathing and once, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'll play better next time, I'm sorry.”

He wonders if it's crossed into physical abuse yet, when it's going to. Because it's not if. With this guy, it's only ever going to be when.

That's what strengthens his resolve. What makes him walk straight towards Trujillo's house, take in that uglyass car before raising the bat and swinging it as hard as he can. The glass crashes, cracks and splinters. He can't remember the last time something felt this satisfying. He meets Sanchez's eyes, nodding when the man smirks before swinging again. 

They're so involved in it, all three of them, that they don't notice the light in the house coming on or the door opening. The car's a mess, dented metal and broken glass, smashed headlights and a rearview mirror dangling by a wire. There's a shout, a stream of Spanish but Trujillo doesn't get a chance to swing his crowbar before Whitey's grabbing him by his shirt, slamming the man's back against the now destroyed car. Sanchez and Pablo crowd around the both of them, bats still clenched tightly in their hands.

“You will say nothing. You're going to listen to me. If you say anything, I'm going to punch you. Every word you say will earn you a punch. You so much as scream, I will bash your fucking head in, do you understand me? Nod if you understand.” Whitey hisses, punching him anyway as if to emphasize his point. There's death in his eyes and Trujillo nods frantically. It's sickening. The man's a coward, good for nothing but scaring a total sweetheart who just wants to please somebody. Tim deserves so much better. “You're going to stay away from Tim. You will never speak to him again. You will not contact him, you will not answer if he tries to contact you. If he comes here, you will not answer the door. Do you understand?”

Trujillo nods again. Pablo smirks, tapping his bat against the man's chin. “Good. Smartest thing you've ever done. If you do not listen, if you try _anything_ on him ever again? We will do to you what we did to your car. There will be nothing left but pulp and bone and wood splinters.”

“I get it! Jesus Christ, just let me go, I get it!” Trujillo protests frantically. Sanchez and Whiteside look at eachother, heads nodding as if counting up the words that Trujillo has spoken. They take turns punching him before throwing him to the ground and walking back to the truck. Pablo glares down at him before following them.

For miles, they say nothing and there's no sound in the truck but their breathing. Pablo scrubs his hands over his face and through his hair, staring wide eyed at Sanchez when the man turns around.

“Did we really just do that?” He asks helplessly. 

For a moment, they all look at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter. This isn't funny, it's really really not, but they can't help themselves. There's an air of hysteria to the situation. It's something none of them ever would have thought of doing before, and before he can feel guilty, the part of him that just allowed him to destroy a car and help beat a man up reminds him that this was done for Timmy, to save him from that asshole and save him from himself.

Sanchez and Whiteside drop him off at his apartment, the three of them looking at each other with an unspoken pact never to speak of this to each other again. 

When he crawls into bed, there's a missed call from Yadi and a voicemail telling him good night. He thinks about calling his fiance back, telling him what he'd done but it doesn't matter, it can wait til morning. Because he's done what he can to protect his best friend and that earns him the best night's sleep he's had since this whole mess began.


End file.
